


A Few Lines That May Fall Under Your Eye

by die_traumerei



Series: Home is the Soldier [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Canon Disabled Character, Epistolary, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, academic!steve, soldier!bucky, warning: major character injury, warning: mentions of war
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-23
Updated: 2014-10-06
Packaged: 2018-02-18 13:27:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2350028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/die_traumerei/pseuds/die_traumerei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Told almost entirely through letters.  Steve Rogers signs up for a military pen-pal program, and is assigned Sgt. James Barnes.  It pretty much goes from there.  Warning: story contains old SF paperbacks, long discussions on the dignity of choice, Steve working in academia, Bucky being an outrageous flirt, and Sam being perfect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from the famous Sullivan Ballou letter. I'll wait here while you all get Ashokan Farewell stuck in your heads, and then go have a good cry.
> 
> I'm aiming to update on Tuesdays and Fridays, but my internet might be iffy in the next few days, so please forgive any delays.

_The summer soldier and the sunshine patriot will, in this crisis, shrink from the service of their country; but he that stands it now, deserves the love and thanks of all men and women. Those who endure beyond their obligated duty have come to be called “winter soldiers”._

_Thomas Paine_

Dear Sergeant Barnes,

It looks like we've been assigned each other for this pen pal program. So I guess I'll start the introductions? My name's Steve Rogers, and I'm a PhD student, although I don't recommend holding your breath about that getting done anytime soon. Mostly I teach – I'm in the history department, and my speciality is military history. (I promise I won't get annoying and ask you endless questions about how you think so-and-so would have felt about such-and-such a decision. I also feel I should inform you that I don't even watch the History channel, even though my Masters focused on the Second World War. Hopefully all this will come as a relief?)

I guess in theory you could be a history buff too, we had to write down our interests and things, but going by the matches I get in online dating, that's not exactly down to a science. I draw a lot too – I thought about doing art, but decided on a career that is only very slightly more lucrative. I always wanted to go into the Army, but I've got an impressive array of medical problems that prevent that. (Nothing terrible! I'm fine, really, it's all little stuff. But add it all up...) So, instead, I write. I'm not sure I'd do so well in the Army to be honest, so maybe it's worked out best this way. Sometimes I wish I'd had the dignity of a choice, though.

So, tell me about yourself? And let me know if you need or want anything. We get a sweet deal on postage in this program, so don't stint yourself.

All best,

Steve

 

 

Dear Steve,

Good to meet you, man. They definitely didn't match us up well – you should've got one of the officers, what with being clearly ridiculously smart, and you've been landed with some random Brooklyn mook. I think we'll get on, though.

I like history okay, but I'm more interested in science. Well, science fiction really, but I like how the two are starting to blend. So I read what I can. If you can get ahold of any copies of Scientific American that aren't old enough to drive themselves to the base, can you send them on? Thanks.

What's your PhD on?

Sorry, I think I'm bad at writing. I didn't really sign up for the program, more like some buddies of mine signed me up as a joke. I don't have any family – nobody to write me, you know? I think they might have been intending to be nice, even? It was great to get your letter though! Keep writing to me? I mean, if you want. It's good to be reminded of the outside world.

Currently my hobbies include not dying, playing a lot of video games, and a load of stuff I'm not allowed to tell anyone, so I don't know how great a correspondent I'll be, but I'll try.

A few things about me: I'm am, in fact, named after a shiningly mediocre president, which is why I got everyone to call me Bucky starting in about third grade and never got out of the habit. I like dancing, any kind – I can swing dance some, and waltz, and not embarrass myself too much when I go out otherwise. I'm from Brooklyn. My favorite book is The Gods Themselves. I'm bi, incidentally.

Hey, I know we can e-mail pretty easily, but do you mind sticking with pen and paper for awhile? I sort of like it.

Regards,

Bucky

 

 

Dear Bucky,

Hey, good to hear from you! Keep up that not dying, okay?

It was good to get your letter, and yeah, let's keep the tradition of pen and paper alive. I was in bed with one of the approximately eight thousand colds I catch every year when your letter came, and you're right – there's something about it.

I'm sorry you don't have family to write to you. I'm pretty much alone in the world too – orphan buddies? Brooklyn orphan buddies, even! I grew up in Williamsburg before it was cool (ha ha I'm hilarious), how about you? Seriously, I'm sort of glad your buddies signed you up, and I'll write to you as much as I can. I like Brooklyn mooks, being one myself, don't let some fancy letters after my name make you think otherwise. I'll throw in this month's Scientific American, and keep an eye out for back issues. You want some other Asimov books too or anything?

By the way, I'm bi too.

That's really cool you can dance – I pretty much suck at it. I'm deaf in one ear – it's okay with a hearing aid, but it throws my balance off a little, plus I had scoliosis when I was little and I'm still a little wonky from that. ( _Obviously_ I am beating off the admirers with a stick, as I am sure you can tell.) Mostly  when I go out I stand there and attempt to look cool, fail miserably, and then go home. (See above in re: obviously beating the admirers off with a stick.)

My PhD is on the Winter Soldier Investigation in 1971 and the effects the Civil Rights Movement had on it. (Remember when I said I might not make it so well in the Army? Yeah, I'm kind of a mouthy little shit. I got good at getting my ass kicked when I was little, so I'm used to it, but still.) 

Seriously Bucky, anything you want, I'm happy to send to you. You like any particular candy? I don't think they'll let me send you a slice of  real  pizza, but I'll do my best otherwise. And I'll try to write as much as I can – if you want to keep writing to each other, I mean. If you think I'm too smart for you (I'm not, by the way), then I'm pretty sure you're too cool for me.

I got bored and sketched out the Tappan Zee bridge on the back of this. Hope that's enough of a taste of home, without making you miss it too bad.

Take care of yourself,

Steve

 

 

Dear Steve,

Bi Orphan Brooklyn Mooks! Together, we could be the worst prog rock band ever.

Thank you so, so much for the magazine. I'm set for books – got a load on my Kindle – but I mean, if you see something and it doesn't cost much, throw that in too. War is...actually pretty boring. And I can only play video games so much.

Hey, you take care of yourself too, all right? I wanna hear that that cold is better on my return letter. (I am not too cool for you, we're each as uncool as each other. Which is my bad way of saying – hey, you seem like an awesome guy, let's be friends. And keep writing. I really, really like getting your letters.)

I like chocolate. Milk chocolate would be good, but don't put yourself out for it. Your letters are more than enough. You're an awesome artist, by the way. I can't draw for shit, but if we're ever in the same city at the same time, I'll take you out and you can stand there and _definitely_ look cool. I'm a really good leader, if you want to try dancing – nothing fancy, but maybe fun? 

Your PhD sounds really interesting. I don't know much about the Winter Soldier stuff, other than reading the old Tom Paine bit about it – I guess you know that inside out and upside down, though. Why'd you pick that, out of everything?

You talked about having the dignity of choice in your first letter. (Yeah, I go back and re-read your letters, sometimes.) What do you mean by that? My Dad was Army, although he died when I was little. It just felt right to follow his footsteps, and what the hell else was I going to do? I wasn't anything special in school, but at least here I'm very good at what I do. I think I like it for the same reason I like dancing – you're a part of something bigger. When the band is right and the partner is right and everything clicks, I lose myself in it all. Bucky Barnes doesn't exist anymore, and I'm part of the larger whole, in the best way. That's what it feels like when my unit's out there.

Sorry. It's easy to talk to you. But I won't, if you don't want me to. I should just ask you about what TV you watch and the girls (and boys, I guess) you pick up.

Anyway, hope you're feeling better. Drink plenty of orange juice or whatever. Hot milk with whiskey and a spoonful of sugar – that'll fix you up right.

Be good,

Bucky

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Dear Bucky,

You can write anything to me, you know? Anything. I promise. 

Hey, when you're back, you're taking me dancing. The way you describe it, I can see why you love it. I guess I never felt a part of something bigger than myself, but I always wanted to. I always feel like I'm on the fringes of things.  I guess  I'm good at organizing people, getting them all moving in the same direction, you know? But that's  pretty lonely,  too . 

Oh my God, I swear I'm not this much of a sad sack. I just – okay, so my cold is better, but I spent a night in the hospital because my heart was doing some funny stuff. I AM OKAY. Saying again, I AM FINE DON'T WORRY. I had rheumatic fever when I was little and my lungs are all asthmatic so anytime I show up for some little thing, doctors tend to go into panic mode. It's kind of funny. (Okay, it's annoying, but it's a little funny too.) Anyway, that wasn't much fun, so sorry, you kind of got Introspective Steve for a paragraph there.

When I got home this morning, your letter was waiting for me. That was really nice. Thank you.

I don't watch a lot of TV, but my friend Peggy is making me watch Band of Brothers, because she says it's a goddamn tragedy that someone who devoted two years of his life to  researching t he Howling Commandos hasn't seen it. And I haven't picked up any girls, or boys, for awhile, so that's kind of a dead end as well. (Well, I had a date a week ago? He's gorgeous and awesome but I think we'll work better as friends.) So keep up the beautifully written introspection. And the recipes, that milk toddy was amazing, thank you.

Hey, how about you? You got a girl, or a boy, back home?

I hope you like the chocolate – it's the real good stuff, my friend Nat knows someone who makes it, because I still live in Brooklyn so why not embrace the hipster lifestyle? The good parts of it, anyway. And I hope you like the book, I asked my friend Tony about good SF and he literally (really literally!) started lobbing paperbacks at me. He got kind of a wild look in his eye about this one. I'll send the rest along, but to be honest, I want to try reading some first. Give us something to talk about, you know? Although I guess we don't need much help.

(By the way, you may infer from the preceding paragraph that I'm kind of a loser when left to my own devices. I surround myself with awesome people, though.)

Just to keep the old-fashioned thing going, I threw in a photo of myself. Don't laugh too hard at how arty it is (or at how stupid I look, I mean, I know that part), it was just a moment Nat caught, and I thought you might like to know who you're writing to.

I have a lot of thoughts about what I mean by the dignity of choice, but this is already long enough, and you may be sick of me by now. I'll write more soon.

Keep up that not dying thing, you're really good at it!

 

Steve

 

 

Dear Steve,

If you ever call yourself stupid-looking again, I'll sock you one. Jesus, Mary and Joseph, you're gorgeous. Nat must be pretty special to get that look out of you. And yeah, it's arty, but it's beautiful, with those strips of sunlight falling across you and the branches (fuck me I even miss shitty city trees) and everything. When I get back I'm definitely taking you out dancing so everyone can be jealous of me for having such a guy on my arm.

I put in a picture of myself, too. It's nothing special but, yeah, so you know who you're writing to.

Oh, and new rule by the way. You gotta start every letter to me by telling me that you're doing all right and you're healthy, or there'll be two of us with heart problems. I'll probably worry anyway, but you stay healthy, okay? Please? I like knowing that handsome face is kicking ass over there on the old home soil. And you're not a loser, asshole. Even Introspective Steve isn't a loser.

I'm not sick of you, or your writing, I promise. Really looking forward to your next letter. I chose this life, for all that it looked inevitable. (I'm like eleven billionth generation military.) I chose to be a part of this bigger thing, and I choose to do what I do. I know I joke about staying alive, and it's not like I have a death wish or anything, but I have always known, that if this is the end of me, I'll have chosen it. It'll be for something I think is right. So, yeah. I'm sorry you never got that choice. I'm glad you're safe, though.

So tell me about Handsome, Awesome and Better as a Friend? He had better be treating you right, Steve. I don't have a girl or a boy waiting for me, by the way. I was dating this guy right before I shipped out, but it wasn't a great relationship, so nothing lost there. It's hard carrying on a relationship with a war and several major geographical formations between you and the other person, anyway.

I really like the book, by the way, thank you. I've read a little LeGuin, but not Left Hand of Darkness yet. I know it's supposed to be this revolutionary depiction of genderqueerness, but to be honest, I just really like the description of all the snow. The chocolate is awesome, and thanks for throwing in the socks, too, can always use more of those. You're the tops, kid.

Well, I'm boring as fuck, so I'll sign off now. Thanks again.

 

Bucky

 

 

 

Dear Bucky,

I AM FINE ALL IS WELL. That good enough for ya? I am okay, I promise. No cold, heart and lungs are in order (or as close to order as they get), anemia under control, glasses on, back largely un-fucked-up, tummy doing fine, hearing aid in, clear eyes, strong hearts, can't lose, etc. I'm staying good for you, promise.

And hey, you are  not nothing  special, you asshole. You're gorgeous. If you take me dancing,  I'll buy dinner first,  okay? Wouldn't be ashamed to be on that arm.  If you keep talking to me like we're in a Fitzgerald novel, though, I'll make fun of you.

Glad you liked your treats, I threw in some more chocolate  with this, and some more paperbacks. I went to a used bookstore with Tony, and I think I can keep you in slightly trashy science fiction until the heat death of the universe now.  The Stars My Destination is pretty good, although, um, very much of its time. Hope you haven't read it.

Handsome, Awesome and Friend is named Sam. He's a counselor at the VA, ex-air force, did I mention fucking gorgeous? He's good to me, but I don't know. Not really feeling the 'I want to wake up next to you and read the Sunday Times together' vibe, you know? We're getting coffee this afternoon, it'll be nice.

Glad you got out of the relationship that wasn't so good. Do I need to punch a fucker for you? I will. You deserve the best, Bucky. Don't you ever accept less.

I wish I'd had your ability to choose, too. I'm – well, jealous isn't the right word. I'm angry, I guess. Not at you! Never at you, never at the Army, never ever. I guess at myself. At my fucked-up body that fails me, over and over. I was angrier as a kid, if you can believe it. Now I  just  try to find my own way to serve, try to make it so I'm not totally useless. I want to make the world better. And that's not naive or stupid, that's a thing I want to do, really. I think I could have done it in the Army, I think I really could have changed the world for better. But I can't, so I work away in my little office, and I try to make the world better that way. That's why I'm so drawn to the Winter Soldier hearings; it's men who were trying so hard to  pull good out of a terrible thing, to show the truth to the world, and it was awful and wonderful. I admire them so much, because I don't know if I'd have had that strength. It would be so easy to just fall into obeying orders, working towards that one goal, then the next. Maybe it's best that I'm not in the military, I might be just a summer soldier, or a blind  patriot . (Well, I'm pretty blind without my glasses, so ha?)

I hope this answers a lot of your questions. And I hope you still think Introspective Steve isn't a loser. He wants to honor your choice, and I don't care if that sounds dramatic, it's  true .

Also, it's easier to write than to tell this to people. If it's annoying, just tell me though?

I promise the next letter will be less my thesis and more descriptions of various highly attractive people I see throughout my day.

Keep up the not dying, please.

 

Steve

 

PS That's Nat I sketched on the back of this. Speaking of highly attractive people. If she wanted to, she could own us all.

 

 

Dear Steve,

Holy shit, Nat can own me anytime she wants. How'd the date with Sam go? Tell me about your life? Attractive people are great, but I want to hear about you too, you know? (After all, you're an attractive person, so that should count.)

And hey, Introspective Steve is still not a loser. You're amazing, do you know that? Yeah, you're a dramatic little fuck, but an amazing one. I can't imagine you'd ever be Paine's summer soldier. You're too smart, too good. If you're all hung up on honoring my choice, then I'll fight so you can be safe in that body that betrays you, so you can work away in that office.

Ha, I think that's enough dramatics from me. Your letter meant a lot. I know we've joked about it, but when  this tour is done  and I'm back in the States , can I take you out to dinner?  I'll just sit there and watch you talk, probably, I'm not that good with words. But at least you'll get a little arm candy out of it?

I  always talk like I'm in a novel from the  3 0's, I love that slang. I know that technically it was just as crude, but it seems sweeter to call you dollface, you know? Because you are a dollface, and any guy would be lucky to have you as his fella, and you can tell any of your dates that straight from me.

No need to go punching anybody  on my behalf, honest . But thanks for the offer.  Brock's long gone, and we're both better off for it. 

I have read  The Stars My Destination , but it was years ago, so I'm really looking forward to re-reading it, thanks. Hey, send me something you like too, please? Just be patient if it's some long academic tome, history isn't my strong point. Here's a secret: I was a science geek in high school. I co-founded the physics club with a friend of mine. When I get out of the Army, I want to go back to school, maybe look at something in technology, maybe something to do with space. Anything to keep me dreaming about the future, I guess.

I'm sorry this is so short. If you've watched the news, you know that things are a little rough right now. Please keep writing? Your letters mean a lot.

 

Stay well,

 

Bucky

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

Dear Bucky,

STILL ALL RIGHT HERE ALL IS WELL. Now you have to start your letters the same way, because I worry about you. You're a friend now, you know?

No, you can't take me out to dinner, because I already said I'd take you out, and then you can take me dancing. And I'll get a helluva lot more than arm candy out of it – you're amazing in  so many ways, even if you do sound ridiculous. You're plenty good with words, and you're clearly fucking brilliant and kind and just – don't put yourself down, okay?  I'd be proud to be seen with you. Keep dreaming about the future, and I'll keep an eye on the past, and between the two of us,  everything'll be okay .

My date with Sam was good, although I think we're gonna stick with being friends. I don't really feel like dating right now, and as awesome as he is, the spark isn't quite right. We talked a lot and we're gonna try working out together. I can't run much, but I want to get better, maybe get a little stronger. I'll let you know how pitifully it goes. We talked some about his work, some about mine. The weather here is beautiful – I'm throwing in a drawing I did at Prospect Park. The air's suddenly gone sharp and cool, and the light's starting to do that long golden thing. Pumpkin spice everything should hit the stores soon, and frankly, I couldn't be happier. (If you want to make fun of me for this, please know that everyone I know will join in with you, so you'll be in good company.) By the way, I told Nat how you responded to her picture and I think she's just decided you're dinner. I'd say I'd protect you but maybe you'd rather I didn't. Should I tell her you're saving all your sugar for her? (Ha ha, I can sound like a dork too!)

You wanted to know about the rest of my life, so I guess I'll just tell you what I did today, it's pretty typical. Up at 7, breakfast, and out the door. I'm teaching an intro to military history course, which is entirely taken by freshmen who have no idea what just hit them, so I'm effectively a counselor too. They're basically good kids, though. Anyway, I had that first, then went to the library for a few hours to try to track down some journal articles. I really need to go to DC, but it's gonna be hard to get access to a lot of the stuff I want. Maybe I'll do that soon. I had lunch with Nat, then had to go to the doctor to get a prescription refill (nothing unusual, see first line of this!), then office hours all afternoon.

God, I'm so boring, I'm so sorry. I'll throw in extra chocolate to make up for it, and I hope you like the socks, they made me smile. I got a load of old Scientific Americans off of Tony, and he's gonna see what else he can find for you. His friend Bruce is an amazing doctor – you sure you don't want to write to the two of them? – and he's gonna keep an eye out for stuff to send you. Hope you like the DVD's, too, they're some of my favorites.

I watch the news. Take care of yourself, Bucky. I think about you, all of you, a lot.

Tell me one of your dreams for the future?

 

Take care,

 

Steve

 

 

D ear Steve,

SITUATION NORMAL I'M FINE AND IN ONE PIECE.

I'm so sorry it took me so long to get back to you – we haven't been on base for a little bit. It means everything that your letter was waiting for me when I got back. Things are a little quieter, so there shouldn't be this long break again.

Hey, not that I don't love writing home like it's the Civil War, but we do have phones here. Want to talk sometime? It's okay if you just want to write, but, you know. Friends.

Tell Nat she's a gorgeous girl, but I'm saving my sugar for someone else.  (I know what you mean about not really wanting to date right now.) I'd be honored to take her out for coffee, though. Maybe you and me and her and Sam? How's the running going? You take care of yourself. Tell Sam from me that if you get sick or something, he's gonna have to answer to me. (As he's a flyboy, he'll be aware that he's lucky I acknowledge his existence at all.)

All right, all right, you pay for dinner, I take you dancing, it's a deal. Might not want to hold your breath, though, I'll be here for awhile. I'm sorry. It'll be the best dancing of your life, I promise, worth waiting for.

Thanks for everything you sent – I shared the chocolate out with some of the local kids and I think you've got a fan club. I'm wearing the alien socks right now, and everyone is pathetically grateful for new DVD's to watch and just – thanks. I didn't get anything but those random anonymous boxes that some charity sends out for so long, so you're really making mail call special.

Hey, your day sounds nice. What else are you teaching? My days are...well, you know the old definition of war with the long periods of boredom, etc. Quiet is nerve-wracking, but kinda good too. I wish I could tell you more, but you know how it goes.

I'm sure Tony and Bruce are great, but I like writing to you, Steve. You're like a breath of air. How's the thesis going? Tell me some cool history fact. Tell me a secret; I told you one of mine.

Sorry, I'm sort of giddy, and I'm probably grinning like an idiot as I write this. If your friends'll help me make fun of you for the pumpkin spice stuff (because  hell yes I'm going to mock you for that, seriously Steve), you can help all my buddies tease me for being so lame about how happy I get over stuff like this.

Okay, here's a dream for the future: I'm home in Brooklyn, all dressed up. Waistcoat, flat cap, looking sharp. I swing by your apartment and pick you up and walk down the street with that handsome face next to me, your arm on mine. We walk through Prospect Park a bit, watching the trees change, and then I take you out for coffee that TASTES LIKE FUCKING COFFEE because a man's got standards. Sound good?

 

I'll stop being stupid now. Let me know if you want to talk.

 

Bucky

 

 

Dear Bucky,

STILL THIS SIDE OF THE GRAVE. Running doesn't like me, which is okay, because I don't like running. Brief side trip to the hospital to prod my lungs along. All will be well soon, but we're gonna wait on cardio. (I can't lie to you, sorry. But don't worry over me, okay? I've made it this far, not gonna keel over on you or anything. I'll just be sort of squinty and cough-y and I don't hear so good. Consider this your out for that dream of the future. Which was really nice, not gonna lie.)

I told Sam what you said and he informed me that he doesn't talk to people who still use their feet to get around when planes exist, so I'm throwing up my hands and when you come home, Nat and I will talk like normal people while the two of you go all tribal on each other.

(He's the one who supplied the cocoa butter, by the way.) Oh, I threw in some extra chocolate and sweets for the kids. The ones with your name on it ARE FOR YOU. Keep something for yourself, Sergeant Barnes, you don't want a pissed-off tiny Steven Rogers waving his fists at you. Maybe I'll just make you buy me a stupid flavored coffee?

I don't have any breath to hold, but that's okay, 'cause even though I'm like the least patient person ever, I can be patient for you.

Hey, I finally picked up The Gods Themselves. It's fucking amazing! Well, I mean, I guess the human characters are sort of dull? But the three genders, that's so cool. You don't really get stuff this odd and wonderful in transcripts of VVAW testimonies. (SF is really good escapist reading. I must be the last person on earth to realize that.)

The thesis is kind of stalled, but I think I've got some ideas on where to take it. It's just hard reading, you know? My subject is war and the pity of war, and so forth. I might take a little break, if I can get away with it, clear my head. Here's a funny history fact: right after it first became a thing, all the Supreme Court judges lived together in a single house. Can you imagine how amazing and awesome Real World: Supreme Court would be today??

And here's a secret: I used to pretend I was a superhero. I called myself Captain America, and I was big and strong and I'd go punch all the bad guys out. The thing is, I pretended this basically until I went away to college. I'd write stories and I even drew some comics with my alter ego. It was a good place to run to and hide, this healthy, strong body that could do everything I wanted. I kind of stopped doing it when my mother died, but sometimes – like now – I still sort of think about what Cap would do. Probably be over there with you.

Well, now you know my sad-sack story. That's a sketch of Cap folded in with this by the way. And I drew one of you in your flat cap and dressed like a fucking Gatsby extra – hope you like it.

And yeah. Call me, Buck. 212-555-8570. It'll be good to hear your voice.

 

'Til later,

 

Steve

 

 

 

Dear Steve,

 

SITREP: BARNES ON CLOUD NINE

I just got off the phone with you but I gotta write you this letter, cause I'm a sad fucker who can't ask you in real life.

Steve, you're the most fucking amazing little punk. I know you said you don't want to date right now, but would you be willing to think about it next summer? 'Cause I want to take you out, and not as a friend. I wouldn't blame you at all for not wanting to hitch your wagon to this star, I'd be the happiest guy in the world just to be friends but – I'm saving my sugar for you. If you'll have it. I've been falling for you for awhile, and getting to talk to you – that sealed it, kid. Please let me know if you feel the same way? Or ever could?

No matter what, you're something special, and you should know that. I wish to fuck I was a poet or could draw or do anything but if you can agree to be wined and dined by a sad Brooklyn jerk, he'll have you.

Please write back soon,

 

Bucky

 

 

____________

 

A/N: That description of Bucky in waistcoat and flatcap is shamelessly pulled off of this picture:

  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a friendly reminder that the next update will be Friday... ;)
> 
> Also! I am on Tumblr at dietraumerei.tumblr.com, come and hang out with me.
> 
> Also x2: I would love to have a beta reader! Get in touch if you'd be interested, please?


	4. Chapter 4

Dear Bucky,

Yes, you fucking special, gorgeous, kind, wonderful man. Yes.

Moron. What else did you think I'd say.

Steve

 

PS Thanks for being braver than me. We deserve each other, don't we?

PPS Now, next week, next summer – I'll be your best guy anytime.

 

Dear Steve,

Fuck me, yes we do deserve one another. Your letter...can't tell you how happy it made me. Christ. Next summer feels so far away. Can't wait to meet you for real, wrap my arms around you, take you out and treat you right. Can't wait to sit around with you and make fun of each other.

I'll stop babbling now.

Hey, your stomach better since we talked? Take it easy, and yes I damn well will nag at you to take care of yourself. Until I'm there to tie you to the bed and make you dinner myself. (Then you can tie me to the bed for dessert, ha ha, I am winning at being a boyfriend already.)

Everything's still quiet here, thank God. The kids are definitely forming a Captain America fanclub, so you seem to be doing pretty good on winning hearts and minds. Thanks for the sketch of Cap – I pinned it up over my bunk. You're the tops, kid.

I'll call you Wednesday night your time, okay?

Oh – thanks for A Canticle for Leibowitz! I started it the other night and it's amazing. Hey, we haven't babbled at each other about religion yet. I was raised Catholic, I don't really care now. There are definitely atheists in foxholes. I'm guessing you're pretty religious – angels have to be, don't they? Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?

I can feel you throwing something at me all the way from America, so I'll sign off now. I think of you often, Steve. And terrible pick-up lines. But mostly of you.

Bucky

 

 

Dear Bucky,

You may notice a crumpled piece of paper in your care package. Please hand it to the nearest person and ask them to throw it at you for me. Thank you.

(Hey, are your legs tired? Cause you've been running through my mind all day.

Yeah, I got nothin'.)

On the off chance that was a serious question, I was also raised Catholic. I still believe, I guess? In general? I don't go to church or anything, but I try to be good and kind and all of that. (I'm mostly not very good at it, but I try.) My mother was a big believer, so I try to go to Mass on Christmas, along with all the other guilty children of saintly mothers.

Oh fuck it. I just want to write about how awesome you are, and I can't wait to see you. We'll talk tonight, and it'll be the best, and I love your voice. Have I told you that yet? I do.

Everything is all bright and shiny and happy, even my stupid fucking PhD. And all 'cause of you, James Barnes. You fucking sap, you make my world go 'round.

I threw in one of my favorite books, by the way. I hope you like it, it's sort of a kid's book but not. And it's about math and science, but also about taking care of one another and love and good things like that. I'm going to take care of you, too. And not just when you're tied to my bed, although definitely then too.

(This is read by like twenty people, isn't it? So no letter sex for us. Let's just say you're on my mind a lot.)

 

Talk to you soon,

Steve

 

 

Dear Steve,

A Wrinkle in Time is one of my favorites too. Your letters are my Aunt Beast, you know? My respite, the things that take care of me. I swear I'm not such a sap in real life, but it's easier to put things on paper, you know?

(If you were a laser, you'd be set on stunning. Hah, we're both sad!)

You're plenty good, don't you ever doubt yourself there. You're good and you make my world go 'round too. And yes, we're probably boring the shit out of a load of DoD people, and they're not really paid enough to read our letter-sex, but I think about you a lot too.

Hey, let's go out to Coney Island next summer? We can eat ourselves sick and play in the ocean and I'll even let you duck me. (Actually,  not that, as I suspect you're a sneaky little shit who would take me out out at the knees and please be kind, Captain America!) I keep thinking of all the great stuff I want to do with you. We can go down to DC so you can do research, and you can educate my ignorant ass on all the history stuff I never noticed, and then I'll take you out and we'll walk along the Potomac at night, and it will be gorgeous.

How the hell did I land myself a brilliant guy like you? You're crazy, you know.

By the way, Clint enormously enjoyed throwing that piece of paper at me, and requests that you be informed he's standing by for any further throwing-shit-at-me services you require. I'm about to go kick his ass at target practice, so I find this all very cute on his part.

I feel bad I don't have anything to send you, when you spoil me rotten. Just words and promises, but I'll follow through baby, I swear. I'll make you the happiest guy in Brooklyn. And until then, I'll keep writing, and do my best. I'll try to call you soon.

Here's something – the night sky here is beautiful. The desert is beautiful, really. We should go out west and see it sometime. It's clear and cold and perfect.

 

I can't wait to talk to you again.

Bucky

 

 

 

Dear Bucky,

 

Hey, guess you've been pretty busy – I hope everything is okay. I hope everyone is okay. You keep making these promises to me, you better deliver. You can call me anytime, you know that right?  You don't have to check first.

The desert sounds beautiful – we definitely got to get out West, take a vacation. Maybe New Mexico? Someplace as gorgeous as you, babe. (I am giving up on the one-liners for now. Nat's promised to give me some of her best, by which I mean worst.) I'm going to DC next weekend, so I'll scout the perfect places for us to make out by the river. The PhD is going well again – I'm gonna make you proud, Bucky. I promise.

If we're going to Coney Island, then we should go upstate in the fall. I've never been – how sad is that? – but we can be giant losers and stay at a B&B and watch the leaves change. Just a year from now. A year's nothing, you know? It'll be less than a year until you come home. I've got the day marked on my calendar, I'll go down to meet you at the airport, it'll be amazing.

I have no idea where you get the idea that I'm a sneaky little shit, none whatsoever. Pure as the driven snow, me. (Snow that's been driven through ha ha I am a funny boyfriend.) I would never take advantage of being smaller than everyone else in the world, and generally being overlooked. I'm just an innocent academic, innocently taking a break from filing FOIA requests that will never be fulfilled, la la la.

I threw in some more drawings for you,  since you said you liked them . I drew us together – I know it's cheesy, I'm not even sure how tall you are (I mean, other than taller than me because everyone is), but we've been saps from the beginning, haven't we?

Heh, I forgot to do the I'M FINE thing, I just realized. I'm on cloud nine, as you well know. But – and I'm telling you this because we promised to be honest, so you can't get mad at me – I've got a black eye on that cloud nine. Might have gotten into a barfight  on Friday. Some dickhead wouldn't leave a lady alone. I'd rather get punched than have her get hurt, and it doesn't hurt so much anyway.  Nat pulled me out and got me ice, so it's all okay, but I'm still pissed off at him. At least he's banned from that bar. (So am I, but it wasn't one of my favorites, so who cares?) So now you can picture my sad ass properly.

The news isn't real hopeful. You take care of each other, okay? Tell Clint he's gotta have your back, and I'll give him loads of stuff to throw at you.

 

Be good, sweetheart, and come back home to me.

Steve

 

 

Dear Bucky,

Guess things are still busy there. I had to stop watching the news, it was making me crazy – I'm sorry. See, I'm not as good as you think I am. Probably good I was never a soldier. Captain America  was everything special in me, I think,  and he's not even real .

Please write or call as soon as you can. I'm really worried about you.  The 107 th isn't in a good place.

I can't lose you.

 

(There, I wrote it, and now I'm going to send this letter and not regret it.)

 

Steve

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I REGRET NOTHING.
> 
> 1) Hey, come hang out with my on tumblr! dietraumerei.tumblr.com. Come for the multiple reblogged photos of Sebastian Stan, stay for some incoherent ranting.
> 
> 2) So, looks like this is gonna be a series, considering I more or less unintentionally barfed out 1000 words the other night to a sequel. So, wooo!


	5. Chapter 5

“Oh my God, that doesn't even make sense as a _sentence_.” Steve had reached the stage in the marking process that meant he was talking to himself, which probably meant it was time for a break. Not that the current shining example of youthful essay-writing was going to take him a lot of time, but he tried to be helpful in the way he marked their papers. Which meant taking a break when it got to be Sarcastic Hour.

He'd just made himself a cup of tea when his phone rang. Steve couldn't, quite, stop his heart from leaping (and tried to ignore that it had been doing that every time his phone rang for the last month), but frowned a little when he saw the number – US, not the army base Bucky usually called him from. “Hello?”

A long pause.

Then, finally – “Steve?” The voice was low, fuzzy, and unmistakable, and Steve wondered for a second if he would pass out when he groped for a chair to sit down in.

“Bucky!” It had been weeks since he'd gotten a letter from him, and Steve hadn't been able to bring himself to follow the news closely in even longer. “Holy shit, it's so good to hear your voice.”

There was a low chuckle on the other end of the line. “You too, darlin'. You want the good news, or the bad?”

“You're alive, there is no such thing as bad news.” Steve curled up on the chair, heart pounding. “What happened, baby?”

“Good news is I'm on US soil,” Bucky said, and the words dropped slow, a little unsure. “Bad news is I'm at Walter Reed.”

Steve closed his eyes and remembered to breathe. Okay. Okay, SITREP. Bucky was hurt. Bucky was _alive_. Bucky was unhurt enough to talk to him on the phone. This was a thing Steve could work with.

“I'll be there as soon as I can.”

“Stevie, no --”

“Stevie, _yes_ ,” Steve said. “You have thirty seconds to make me believe you don't want me there. Go.”

“God, you're a little shit.” And there, that was a real laugh, and Steve was glad he was already sitting down, and that Bruce had taught him those breathing exercises.

“Twenty-five seconds, Buck.”

“Fine, fine. I'm hurt bad, Stevie. You should know.”

“You know we'll get through it,” Steve said softly. “Whatever it is, we're Brooklyn boys, we're tougher than anything.”

“I lost an arm.”

“Okay.” Steve bit his lip. “Sorry. I don't know what else to say.”

Bucky laughed again, so low Steve could barely hear it. “'Okay' works. Sorry I gotta keep you waiting on that dinner and dance.”

“Jesus Christ, Buck, I'll get us McDonald's and we can chair-dance to Frankie Valli, I don't _care_ about that.” Right, it was too late to get a train down to Bethesda, and he wasn't sure he could deal with not crying right now, which was kind of a thing he liked to  avoid on public transit. 

Sam had a car. Sam was a friend. Sam  _knew people_ . How long did it take to drive to Maryland?

“Bucky, I'll be there as soon as I can, I swear. I swear.”

“I know. I want...it'll be good to see you, Stevie.”

“You too. Thanks for being good at not dying. Can I call you back on this number?”

“Yeah. I sleep a lot, though, so just keep calling.”

Steve was up and moving, already finding a bag, throwing stuff in. “The fuck I will. Go to sleep, I'll be there in a few hours.”

“Steve.”

“Yeah, baby?”

“Thank you.  I think...I really need you.”

Steve took a moment to sit on his bedroom floor and curl in on himself. “We're gonna get through this, I swear. Coney island, upstate, going out West. We're gonna do it all, Buck.”

“I know.” Bucky's voice was noticeably slurring now.

“Hey. Rest. I gotta finish packing. Gotta go see my best guy.”

“He's a lucky bastard, this best guy of yours.”

Steve waited for Bucky to hang up first, then dialed Sam's number, carefully ignoring the fact that it was close to 10 now.

“Sam? I have a _huge_ favor to ask you.”

 

* * *

 

Steve dearly, dearly hoped that he would never again need someone to break the land-speed record down 95 in the middle of the night to get him to Bethesda ever again, but if he did, Sam would be the one he'd call. He had been at Steve's in record time, helped him pack, and then loaded both Steve and his bag into his car and called in every favor he could on the way. They knew exactly where Bucky was before they hit New Jersey, and had gotten clearance for Steve to be at his bedside as the lights of Trenton came into view.

Sam had reached over and held Steve's hand when he cried through the rest of New Jersey.

They were at least traveling at a speed close to legal when they hit the hospital complex, and Sam found the right building.

“Take all the time you need, man,” he said, giving Steve a rough hug. “I'll get us a hotel room. Call me when you have an idea of what Bucky needs and I'll run out and get it. We got this.”

“Thank you doesn't even cover this...”

“Dude. Thanks are irrelevant. Go.” Sam squeezed his shoulder. “He'll be so happy to see you.”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course” Steve went to sign in and meet the guy who had apparently owed Sam a few favors, and then he was _there._ It wasn't a room, really, just a curtained-off area, dim and as quiet as anything in a hospital ever got. Steve slipped around the curtain and just stood for a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the low light.

“Stevie?”

“Buck. You should be asleep.” Steve said, suddenly shy now. More than a voice and a photo and words neatly written on a page now, and he tensed, trying not to be afraid for what Bucky saw. Small and skinny, but still himself – please, please, let Bucky see through it all and see _him_.

“Steve, you _came_.” And the crack in Bucky's voice, barely, barely audible was what broke him. It was that which had him practically running to the side of the bed, that which had him wrapping his arms around Bucky's slim waist and holding the other man close, tight, being as _there_ as humanly possible.

“Of course I did. Of course. What the hell did you think I'd do?”

Bucky gave a wet-sounding laugh into his shoulder, and Steve held him tighter, becoming aware of the warm arm wrapped around his back. “Wait till tomorrow at least!”

“Nah. Traffic's better at night, and I told Sam you'd pay him back for the gas.” Satisfied with the snicker this earned him, Steve gently let go, pulling back to get his first good look at Sgt. James Buchanan Barnes. He was pale, with dark circles under his eyes, and he needed a good shave and a better meal, and Steve was pretty sure he'd never seen a more gorgeous human being.

He blushed when he realized that Bucky was gazing at him just as intensely, and he shivered a little when their eyes met. No one could possibly look at him with that much warmth, that much _welcome._ And then Bucky reached out and laced their fingers together, and Steve remembered to take a breath.

“Hey you.” Steve raised Bucky's hand, kissing the knuckles lightly. “So do you believe in love at first sight, or should I get up and walk in again?”

Bucky laughed out loud at that, and Steve saw that his eyes crinkled at the edges, and he wondered if he could request some oxygen for a few minutes.

“God, that's really awful.” Bucky's smile turned sad. “So, here I am. Sure you want to sign on for this?”

Steve blinked at him, and pointedly took out his hearing aid, holding it so Bucky could see. “Sorry, I've got this set up so that I don't hear fuckin' stupid questions, so all that was a mystery to me.”

Bucky's eyes went cold, and Steve flushed. “Sorry, that was mean. I'm sorry.” He slipped the hearing aid back in and rested his hand on Bucky's chest, just over his heart. “Yes, I want to sign on for all this. Bucky, we were friends before I knew what you looked like, and we were crazy for each other before we ever met. I'm a pain in the ass, as you well know. You're giving me a choice, though, and I'm saying I want you.”

Bucky's face relaxed, and he smiled, his hand moving up to rest over Steve's. “We're really gonna get through this.”

“Really,” Steve confirmed, reaching up to brush a lock of hair off of Bucky's forehead. “Can I kiss you?”

Bucky nodded, already trying to sit up, and it was easy for Steve to wrap an arm around his shoulders, hold his weight, and bend his head so that his mouth met Bucky's.

It was not the greatest kiss in history. It wasn't even the best kiss they'd have that _day_. But it was Bucky warm under his mouth and heavy on his arm (he was careful, so careful of the bandages he could just feel) and it was _them_ , all noses bumping and learning each others' mouths and Steve was absolutely certain that this was the best choice he'd ever made.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand, it's done! I'm already well into a sequel, with at least a broad idea of what will happen next to these boys. I don't like posting chapters until I've got the whole story written, so I can't guarantee when the next one will go up (and I'm working on a fucking epic set roughly in the MCU-verse), but, uh, someday? More is on the way, I promise! And it will be a fuckton longer if what I've written so far is anything to go by!
> 
> Thank you everyone for the kudos and comments and bookmarks, they seriously make me wriggle with joy. 
> 
> And if you want more deathless rambling, reblogs of photos of Sebastian Stan and/or strange and unexpected bits and pieces, I'm on tumblr at dietraumerei.tumblr.com
> 
> Edited to add: This story now has a sequel! And a series name! Huzzay!


End file.
